As his hand fell from the curtain, Peter turned away. He regarded the rest of the room, barely visible in the thinning light.
The bedclothes were rumpled, the draperies around the frame undusted and worn. The pattern of his tread was visible in the large embroidered rug which lied between the bed and door. He smiled at the footprints, a mixture of pain and relief in his eyes. For a few moments he took in the scene: the dusty furniture, untouched books, the quiet. It was grief, finished.
Peter tore his eyes away at last and made his way to the door.
He reached for the handle, a confident smile growing on his lips that slowly turned to a frown.
The door was locked.
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Stefan accepted the key Alice slipped to him with a slight nod.
“Thank you. This should help,” he said, tucking the key into the pocket of his coat. He leaned forward in the austere wooden chair to rest his elbows on the table. At his feet were bags of flour and sugar. Strung from the ceiling were clusters of herbs and vegetables. It was the servants' kitchen, spare and small.
Alice did not say anything, but turned and busied herself with the small pot on the stove. She stirred, otherwise unmoving.
The prince watched his childhood nursemaid, feeling the frustration he had felt while talking to the king mounting.
“Alice.”
The little old woman did not respond, but continued stirring her stew.
Stefan brought his fist down on the table, causing a wooden bowl to jump and fall to the floor. Alice betrayed no surprise, reaching for the salt.
“Alice, why won't you understand? I'm doing this for Peter's own good.” He sighed. “You weren't there after Adva jumped into the sea, Alice. You didn't see how he reacted. No thought, no hesitation. He just jumped in after her.”
A board with hooks nailed into it, hung with utensils, was fixed over the stove. Alice pulled down a cutting board and a knife. She turned to retrieve some carrots. Stefan watched her expression and found nothing.
“You've raised me from a child, Alice. Have you ever known me to do something like this?”
Now she looked at him. Then, back to her chopping.
“No, Stefan. Which is why it puzzles me so.”
Hearing the disappointment in Alice's voice, Stefan's mouth opened to tell her the truth. To make her understand.
“Alice,” he began, but his words were cut off.
“Stefan!”
The prince turned to the doorway to see a small boy in white linen and a tailored waistcoat. He carried a silver tea tray containing two cups and a squat teakettle, and his eyes sparkled to see Stefan.
“Alec,” he said, opening his arms. The boy ran to him, throwing his arms around him. Stefan grunted, smiling. “Back so soon?”
“I am staying with Grandmother,” Alec said, ignoring him.”I made tea.”
Stefan reached for one of the steaming cups. “Oh?”
He found the cup snatched from his hands.
“That one is for Grandmother! Taste mine, Stefan.” The boy tapped on Alice's shoulder. She gave him a warm smile and accepted the cup, taking a sip and setting it next to the cutting board. Alec returned to Stefan, climbing up to sit on his knee. He reached for his cup, placing it in Stefan's hand. “Try it!”
The prince took a sip and blanched. The cup was filled halfway with sugar.
“I thought that you were staying with your mother at the mill,” Stefan said, returning the teacup.
“It isn't season yet. There is another month until the mill is busy,” Alec said brightly. “So Mother has sent me here to become a page.” He paused. “Alice made me a waistcoat.”
“A page! But there are no knights in Pheia!” Stefan chuckled.
“There will be!” Alec insisted. He offered the prince his teacup again, but was gently rebuffed.
“We don't need any knights because we have no wars,” Stefan said, ruffling the boy's hair. “It's a wonderful thing! Pheia goes mostly unnoticed because it isn't rich.” Then he laughed and whispered, “And we keep to ourselves!”
Alec grunted.
Alice brought her stirring spoon to her withered lips. “Soup is ready.”
Alec looked around. “The bowl is gone,” he said, frowning. He slipped down from Stefan's lap and peeked under the table. “Here it is.” He ducked and retrieved it, turning to the prince. “Did it fall off when you were angry, Stefan?”
He flushed. “How did you know I was angry, Alec?”
“I heard the table,” the boy said, unconcerned. “You were talking about Peter again.”
With that, Alec crawled back into his lap and set the bowl down. Stefan looked on as he and Alice ate, eyes distant.
“Is Peter still sad?” the boy asked.
Stefan sat up, lifting Alec and gently setting him back on the chair. “Sad enough to be a danger to himself,” he said, looking into Alice's eyes.
The old nursemaid turned her head, and returned to her meal only when Stefan had left the room.
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